Drabbles of Doom!
by deathofaraven
Summary: "Actually, that title is a misnomer," L remarked casually around a bite of cake. "They're more like vignettes or short stories." Not ten seconds later, a bang echoed through the room as his writer introduced her head to her desk and tried not to scream. (DN one shot dump.)
1. Posture

**Disclaimer:** I own a cup of coffee and five boxes of sugar cubes, but I don't own Death Note. Figures. :/

**AN:** Oooh, an author's note at the top of the page; I don't do those often! Anywhozzles. Death Note one shot dump. Yep, that's what this fic shall be. Don't expect too frequent updates (though I do have a backlog of about a dozen one shots saved, at this exact moment, so I might be busy for a while) and don't expect many author's notes from this point on. Think of these as writing exercises/therapy sessions. Yeah. Totally like that. Please review for more one shots!  
><strong><em>Warning!<em>** The following series of one shots include: randomness, a lack of plot, humor (the funny kind, the crude kind, _and_ the poor kind), angst, OOCness, apples, cake, character deaths, yaoi (though nothing serious and mainly used in a humorous manner), random crossovers, percentages, OCs, horror, crack pairings, shinigami, and many, many letters. Read at your own mental health risks. ;)

* * *

><p><span>Posture<span>

The _tick-tock_ of the clock was a monotonous background noise to his thoughts as Light stared blankly at his entrance exam papers. Seriously? This stuff was so easy it was almost _boring_. Several teachers patrolled the aisles, making sure no one was cheating.

"You, there!" a teacher barked abruptly, startling Light and the rest of the students from their work. "Student number one-sixty-two, sit properly in your chair!"

Curious, Light slowly turned around to look at the student in question. Black eyes stared at him from under a shock of messy black hair before flicking toward the teacher who'd called him out. The teacher had a point: this guy did sit weird, his feet up on the chair as he, almost delicately, held his pencil between two fingers.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," the strange student told the teacher. "If I sit any way other than this, my deductive reasoning will drop by forty percent."

Light paused, quirking an eyebrow in a mix of surprise and amusement. The teacher, however, was considerably less amused. The man repeated his order to sit properly once more, then turned away. Light was about to follow suit when something drew him back. The other student, whoever he was, had seated himself normally, but had also pulled a large, brightly-coloured lollipop from his pocket and retrieved a thermos from by his feet. His closest neighbors began giggling and gossiping about him, but this guy was oblivious, working diligently in between sips from his thermos and licks of the lollipop.

He couldn't help but find the student's nerve funny…in a quiet, noncommental sort of way.

Unfortunately, the reactions the other boy was getting had drawn the teacher's attention back to him. Highly annoyed, the teacher hissed, "What are you doing, one-sixty-two?"

"Sugar is good for the brain," the student replied simply. "You won't allow me to sit in the manner that best helps my brain, so I've taken drastic measures. Lollipop?"

The teacher gave the candy a look of disgust and leaned down to furiously hiss something at the young man across from him. Unfortunately, no matter how Light tried, he couldn't hear what was said. After a minute, the other student replaced the thermos by his feet and drew his feet back up onto the chair. He only relinquished his candy after the teacher had pointedly cleared his throat. As the older man stalked off, Light could have sworn the other student was smiling victoriously.

In hindsight, Light wished he had shared the story with his father: maybe someone would finally realize L was nuttier than a Payday.


	2. Early Warning

Early Warning

Looking around at the café they were occupying and at the cloudless blue sky out the window, it was hard to believe that there was supposed to be a gruesome murder tomorrow. Misora had complete confidence in L when he told her that the next serial killing would happen then, though, which was the entire reason why she and Ryuzaki were meeting with the two people across from them. Tomorrow was the day Blackberry Brown or Bluesharp Babysplit was supposed to die. Though…they didn't know which was the target.

Misora had just finished explaining to the two that, for their safety, she and Ryuzaki wanted to switch places with them and occupy their condos for the next day or so when she realized both the man and the woman across from her were staring at her like she was crazy. "Um…," she began hesitantly, before quickly adding, "We'll be paying to set you up in a nice hotel while you're gone. Everything will be fine."

"Ms. Misora," Ms. Brown replied somewhat tartly, "why, exactly, should we let you both pretend to be us? Why are we in danger in the first place? It doesn't make sense!"

Misora hesitated, trying to think of a way to explain what was going on without sending them into a panic or giving away the entire case.

Unfortunately…Ryuzaki beat her to the punch.

"We believe one of you is the next intended victim of the Wara Ningyo murders and that, if you are there when the killer arrives, one of you will be killed and mutilated," the detective said. He'd stopped nibbling on his thumb nail to lap at his paste-like coffee, oblivious to the affect his words had on the civilians across from him.

It took a moment for the words to register, even to Misora who knew exactly why they were there, but, when they did, Ms. Brown was overcome. Mr. Babysplit tried to comfort her, waving a waiter over to fetch some water.

Misora turned to the, still oblivious, Ryuzaki, a feeling of doom descending upon her, and dryly observed, "We need to work on your subtlety."

"Why would we do that, Misora?"

If she wasn't in a public place, Misora would have promptly introduced her forehead to the table.


	3. Console

Console

Somewhere in the midst of a barrage of gunfire, blaring and overly dramatic music, and running for cover, Matt was aware that his phone was ringing. The annoyingly catchy ringtone—he'd recorded it from one of his games—barely penetrated the background nose of the current game he was playing. _One sec, one sec_, he thought, too focused on the game. Naturally, by the time the phone dinged to alert him to a new text, he'd forgotten to answer it.

Muttering to himself, he paused his game and, pushing his goggles up from his eyes, picked up the phone. "You have 1 unread message" flashed across the screen naggingly and he opened it.

_From: Mello-drama  
>Got a minute?<em>

Matt stared at the text a bit suspiciously before texting back: "_Getting slaughtered by five vets and a newb. What's up?_"

Knowing Mello, it would probably be a while before he replied, so Matt set his phone down, put his goggles back on and announced to the tv: "Get ready for total ownage."

Just as he was about to unpause the game, his phone dinged. It wasn't exactly something that pleased him. With a sigh, he set the controller aside and picked up the phone.

"_Coming back to NY_," the message read. "_LA's fucked. Need you to pick me up at the airport in 6hrs._"

Matt had just started to reply that he'd be there when he happened to glance up at the tv. To his horror, he found he'd unpaused his game when he'd set the controller aside and, to add to the terribleness, the worst thing that could ever happen to a gamer had happened. Yeah, life sucked.

* * *

><p>Mello paced back and forth at his gate, waiting for a reply. Why wasn't Matt replying? He should have replied by now. "<em>Matt?<em>" he texted. After five minutes, he added, "_Matt, did you get my message?_"

A smiling man at the gate took his ticket and, after a slightly bewildered double-look at the leather-clad blond, let him board his plane. Once he'd taken his seat, Mello surreptitiously checked his phone again. Not seeing any new messages from his so-called best friend, Mello texted: "_Seriously, Matt! Stop fucking around and answer me!_"

Not two seconds later, his phone vibrated and Mello quickly checked his message.

_From: Matty  
>Sorry! DCed from my game and somehow relogged it, but the frames lagged and the entire system went out on me. At least it didn't RROD, right? See you when you get here.<em>

Mello stared at the smiley Matt had signed the message with, finding that it was irritating him despite the fact that he only understood a third of what Matt had said, and replied: "_Enjoy your remaining hours with your Xbox. Today is its last._"

Back in New York, he was sure Matt was crying with horror.


	4. Join

Join

"I have more jam in the fridge, if you'd like to join me, Misora," Ryuzaki told her, licking jam off his fingers with barely contained enthusiasm.

Naomi Misora stared at him for a moment, trying not to gag at the sight of a grown man eating strawberry jam straight from the jar. After a moment, she managed to shake her head quickly and choked out, "I think I'll pass."

* * *

><p>"Would you like to join me for some coffee, Misora?" Ryuzaki inquired, standing up from the table they were working on a case at.<p>

Misora stared at him, trying to detect an ulterior motive in his words. When she didn't detect one, she murmured, "Sure."

Ryuzaki pottered off to the tiny kitchen area and began making coffee. He returned quickly with two cups.

Not five minutes later, Misora found herself rushing to the bathroom to wash out her mouth. She wasn't letting Ryuzaki make her coffee ever again.

* * *

><p>"Join me, Misora!" the corpse—also known as Ryuzaki—proclaimed from where he was laying on the floor.<p>

With a sigh of resignation, Misora laid down on the floor where Ryuzaki had been laying, staring up at the ceiling. She regretted it a lot. Not only was she sure she wasn't going to be able to get up, but, now, she'd also realized an important conclusion in their case.

* * *

><p>"Ryuzaki!" Misora exclaimed, half panicking. They were supposed to be staking out the building to wait for a killer…so why was this door locked? Was it just her imagination, or could she smell smoke? Realizing that trying to force the door wasn't going to work, she shot the lock and threw herself at the door.<p>

The door swung open and banged into the wall…and Misora could only stare at the scene that met her eyes.

Lit candles sat on almost every surface and Ryuzaki was sprawled out on the bed in naught but his jeans. With a look that was obviously intended to be seductive—though it utterly failed at its task—he patted the space beside him and purred, "Join me, Misora?"

Naomi scowled, picked up a vase from a hallway table and threw it at him as hard as she could as she shrieked, "Son of a bitch!"

Ryuzaki ducked as the vase exploded against the headboard just above him. He pouted. "Is that a no?"

That decided it. She didn't care what L said: she was shooting this guy. Ryuzaki promptly fled from sight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> No joke, B x Misora is my DN OTP (for crack-pairings, that is). They just barely beat out my former OTP, which is L x Cake. *nods sagely*


	5. Proof of Purchase

Proof of Purchase

Matsuda frowned at the letters before him, reading the hidden message in them slowly.

"Uh, Chief?" he called out tentatively.

"What is it, Matsuda?" Chief Yagami replied, looking up from his paperwork.

"If Kira's trying to tell L that shinigami love apples…then couldn't we find Kira faster by focusing on apple sales in Japan?"

Faster than he could blink, the rest of the task force reminded him that he needed to think and be logical—after all, shinigami didn't exist so why would apple sales lead them to one?

* * *

><p>"Um, L?" Aizawa said awkwardly over the phone.<p>

Light hit a button on his headset to turn the mic on and replied, "This is L. What have you found?"

"We…we found Mello's hideout." A long, awkward silence covered the room, though they should have been cheering. After waiting a minute or so, Aizawa went on: "We heard that trucks full of chocolate were being delivered to a certain location and we managed to trace the shipments. How should we proceed?"

As Light went about explaining what they should do next, Matsuda smiled victoriously. He knew tracing the sales would work. "I told you so" wasn't about to cover it. Oh well. Point for Matsu!


	6. Kink

Kink

"Can I ask you something, Ryuzaki?" Light blurted before he could stop himself.

Slowly, curiously, L looked up from his computer. It was the first night they'd moved into the new Kira investigation building and, for the first time in a long time, they were alone. Not by choice, though. Light…actually would rather have been sleeping since it was nearing on two in the morning, but…it wasn't like he could just sleep at their desk.

"Yes, Light-kun?" L inquired, watching him closely.

"Are you…uh…are you into kink?" Light asked, speaking quickly. "Because…." He shook the handcuffs linking them together, making the long chain clink against the floor. "And Misa told me about how you restrained her, so…." Light trailed off into silence. His face felt oddly warm and he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Really, he shouldn't have asked.

L stared at him, even after Light turned away from him to pretend the topic had never come up. L pushed his chair toward Light's with a rattle, still staring at him with such concentration that it seemed more than a little creepy.

"Um…Ryuzaki?" Light probed uncomfortably.

He put his hands up, trying to keep L at bay and get a sense of personal space back. It didn't work. L swung the chain of their cuffs up, catching Light's hands, pulled them out of the way, and…and he kissed him. Light froze, horrified, then tried and failed to writhe away. It wasn't as though L was kissing him in a romantic way, more like he was trying to figure out something, but he _was_ holding him in place. And then, as if nothing had happened, L stopped and pulled away, finally letting go of Light's hands.

"I think it would be more appropriate to ask that question of _you_, Light-kun," the detective observed, glancing down for a split second.

Light followed his gaze and found his face warming in something like humiliation.

"I—y-you—" Light spun his chair back toward the desk, running his hands through his hair and thanking whatever god there was that his blush wasn't showing on his face.

"It's a completely natural reaction for a teenager to have," L told him sagely, sipping coffee from a cup that had mysteriously appeared.

"Just stop!" Light half snarled, wishing he could crawl into a dark hole and not come out.

L went silent, still sipping at his coffee. As he turned away, he murmured around a cough, "Twenty percent."

"Ryuzaki!

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Happy Birthday, Light. In honor of your special day, I present to you years of needed therapy and unresolved sexual frustration all in the form of L. Maybe this will teach you to not kill off my favorite characters...but I kinda doubt it.

(By the way, to everyone reading, should I start doing current one shot summaries in the fic summary? Or should I just leave the weird L thing there? Please let me know what you think. Bye!)


	7. The Replacement (Part 1: The Switch)

The Replacement: The Switch

Light looked down at the handcuff chaining him to L and frowned. "Are these absolutely necessary, Ryuzaki?"

"I'm not doing this because I want to, Light-kun, but…yes."

"I'm sorry for intruding," Watari said, unseen from the speakers of L's nearby laptop. "But how do you intend on working on cases other than the Kira case if Yagami-kun is not permitted to view the files?"

L was silent a moment, looking around the hotel room as he thought. "I suppose…you have a point, Watari. I'll have to think of something else."

"Does that mean Misa will have Light back to herself?" the blond girl inquired, beaming and hugging Light, who was no longer looking so relieved at the thought of not being handcuffed to L.

L picked up a sugar cube from the coffee table beside him and popped it into his mouth. "No. Light-kun will be kept under surveillance until I am positive he isn't Kira. I'll arrange for something else." Misa pouted at him, and L added, "Now, about your surveillance, Amane…."

* * *

><p>The prisoner transport truck pulled up to the building's entrance, drawing confusion from the entire Kira task force. They'd only been at their new HQ for a day, but…surely they weren't supposed to be housing criminals here, were they? L slouched over to the truck when it had parked and talked quietly with the man driving it. Together they went along to the back of the truck, some papers were signed and there was another long conversation before someone unseen got out and the driver got back in the truck and drive away. Light thought he caught a sharp "play nice" coming from L as he led the mystery person toward the group.<p>

L stepped aside, revealing someone who looked strangely similar to him, and, oblivious to the looks he was getting from the task force, announced, "This is B. He…_volunteered_ to _help_."

At L's words, B gave them a bright, almost _too_ friendly, smile and a tiny wave, before going back to looking around with interest. And, just as Light was beginning to wonder what B was going to help with, he noticed the handcuffs in L's hands.

"He's harmless," L assured Light as he chained them together. Under his breath, L added, "And this way I can keep an eye on both of you."

Despite the task force trying to convince L that this was a bad idea, he led everyone inside, commenting about how they had work to do. Lingering at the back of the group, Light looked over at the man he was handcuffed to, feeling slightly nervous. What did this mean? What was going to happen?

As though he'd heard Light's thoughts, B turned toward him, staring unceasingly. The cheer had vanished from his expression now that they were alone, and his eyes glittered dangerously as a cruel smirk came to his lips. "So," he began slowly, sounding far too much like L to mean anything good, "_you_ are Light Yagami, the Kira suspect?"

Light suddenly had a very, very bad feeling about this.


	8. The Replacement (Part 2: The Result)

The Replacement: The Result

Light couldn't take it anymore. He was finally going to talk to L about this, to end it all. It was entirely the fault of the L lookalike he was dragging along behind him that he was feeling this…this…fed up with everything. He couldn't even think straight anymore!

He'd had a bad feeling about B the moment he saw him but—okay, so the fact that he ate jam straight from the jar several times a day was disgusting, but Light was starting to get used to it—that wasn't the half of it. He had been tormented, both mentally and physically, for the last week and a half. He wasn't going to tolerate it anymore.

"Ryuzaki!" Light barked, storming into the operations room. As the task force, and Misa, looked up at him, he said, "I am Kira."

L paused, a panda cookie halfway to his mouth as he blinked at Light. The rest of the taskforce tried to say something, tried to object, but Light silenced them with a gesture.

"I am Kira. You were right. I'll admit to everything, just as long as you _get me away from_ _that_." He ended his sentence with a snarl, pointing accusingly at B…who was staring around the room with innocent vacantness.

"I'm sorry, Light-kun," L said, biting the head off his cookie and casting a half-glance at B, "but I don't believe your confession is genuine. There's an eighty five percent chance you are merely saying it to end your surveillance early."

L started to turn away from him but Light grabbed the back of his chair, spun it around, and planted his hands on both of L's armrests, effectively caging him in. "I'm Kira, Ryuzaki. I used a killer notebook to pass judgment on criminals, I knew you were surveying my room _before_ you told me, and I used my father's computer to get information from the task force's investigation. What more do I need to say? Please, _please_, just arrest me—get me away from this guy—before I end it myself."

Though half of the room was still processing this, the other half was glaring at him in something like betrayal. It wasn't long after that that the whole story came out and Light finally got his wish.

As the task force took Light off for processing—leaving Misa crying in their wake—L decided this didn't feel like a victory. Actually…it kind of sucked. What sucked even worse was that, not two minutes later, L felt B fling his arms around him.

"B did good for Lawliet, yes?" his doppelganger said cheerfully.

L scowled, having the sudden urge to kick someone in the face. "No."

And, with that, he promptly pushed B off of him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Huh...not as funny as I'd thought it might end...


	9. Hidden

Hidden

L wandered around the bedroom of one Believe Bridesmaid, a dead writer he was almost certain had been murdered by one of his former successors. He had no real evidence of it but the meticulousness of the murder—not to mention the eleven volumes of Akazukin Chacha in one of the bookcases—made him convinced his suspicions were correct. Watari would have a list for him soon with the names of all the active agents in LA that would be capable of helping him solve this case, but L wanted to revisit all the scenes for himself first. After all…there was only so much a crime scene photo could tell a person.

The room wasn't large by any means, but it wasn't cramped either. There was nothing…suspicious about it; it was just an ordinary room. Albeit, an ordinary room where someone had been murdered, but that was beside the point.

L had all-but ransacked the entire room already, and he had found…nothing. No messages hidden in any books, no clues on the victim's bed or under the rug. He needed to go back to HQ and review the information he had again; maybe then he would find out what he was missing. L had just started to meander back towards the door when something occurred to him: what about under the bed? Intrigued, the detective circled the bed before dropping to his hands and knees. He shimmied under the bed, frowning at how small the gap under the bed was.

His frown deepened upon realizing he was not alone.

Black hair, baggy jeans, white shirt, L was alone with a mirror reflection of himself.

"L," the other man said awkwardly, dropping his forehead to the floor.

L curled his toes, fighting the urge to squirm in discomfort over the situation. "B."

B looked at him sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. He couldn't stop fidgeting. After several minutes, he muttered, "Well…B doesn't find this awkward."

L rolled his eyes and sighed. Yeah…not awkward at all.


	10. Absolution

Absolution

"Hello, B."

Slowly, thoughtfully, Beyond Birthday raised his head from where it had been lolling against his chest. He, with even greater torpor, blinked to clear the fog from his eyes and his gaze quickly sharpened from the sluggishness of tar to the dangerous glint of fresh blood. "B sends his greetings to Alain, as well."

From across the dim room, A's smile was lopsided and foppish. "What's with the formality? I thought we knew each other better than that…Beyond."

B looked away, trying to forget something he refused to remember. "So did I."

* * *

><p>"D'you remember the games we used to play?"<p>

In spite of himself, B grinned. Despite the fact that he had been widely disliked by the other children of Wammy's House, B had always found himself pulled into A's games. Hide and seek was always one of the most fun—everyone made him "it" out of disdain, but failed to realize just how natural hunting them all down was for him. Perhaps that was why the only one who had played with him was A. A had introduced him to riddles, spending hours coercing him into creating morbid answers to puzzles with no answer. In turn, B had taught A how to hide, how to push the rules so that no one could say he had broken them. Once, when they had been annoyed with L, they'd decided to spend a week of rebelling: playing innocent pranks and general mayhem. It was in that week that they had decided more appropriate aliases for themselves were "Alternate" and "Backup". And, despite the ups and downs, it had been…fun, if only because they were such an odd couple.

And then A had ruined it. His depression had grown out of control, slowly freezing him inside until A had shattered into silver glitter and fragments of pale crystal. As B's grin began to fade, A ran a hand through his mousy hair, his eyes (the same shade of wet sand as his hair) were soft and warm as he intoned somberly, "What's wrong?"

"I hate you," B choked out. His hands clenched, nails biting into his palms like daggers against his calloused flesh.

"I know."

"And I love you," B breathed, his anger fading from his body in a rough sigh.

"I know. You love me and hate me as you love and hate L," A replied matter-of-factly.

"Why did you leave? Why did A have to leave B?"

A crawled over to B—his customary way of moving about—and attempted to meet his friend's eyes. "B knows why."

B frowned at his knees and silently cursed that the numbers had run out. The numbers always ran out, slipping away like sand through his fingers. There was no point in trying to stop them. The doctors could call him mad, but the numbers were all that mattered. Dead numbers carved into the dead veins of a toxic world hidden behind a pulchritudinous mask; they were all dead.

When B next blinked, A had vanished. There was no trace of him to be found.

* * *

><p>"Will you, won't you, will you, won't you—"<p>

"Won't B, what?" Beyond inquired curiously, looking up at A from his cot.

A beamed at him. "Take my hand?"

Cautiously, B took A's hand and rose, unsteadily to his feet. He found it immensely troublesome that he'd happened to leave his body behind on the cot.

"B finds this…curiouser and curiouser," the black-haired boy remarked, following along with A's train of thought.

They stood together, staring at Beyond's body as is steadily grew colder.

"Was it—?"

"Kira," A confirmed quietly, cutting his friend off. For a six year old, B thought A was remarkably…grown up. A was serene, calm, accepting; he did not look on B with pity or disdain. He simply watched.

"I—B is dead?"

"Yes. For a while now." A paused. "Do you want to wait until they find you?"

B stared down at his body, possessed by the same morbid fascination that had always captured his attention in life. _No jam today_, he thought mildly, prodding himself speculatively. _And no jam tomorrow._ He'd always thought he was taller. B turned a mischievous smirk on his friend. "A and B can follow L?"

A nodded, something deviously playful creeping into his smile. B followed A out the door…and together they descended deeper into the rabbit hole.


End file.
